


Wax Off

by tempertantrum (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, M/M, Top Harry, Waxing, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:23:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tempertantrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry reaches back in with both hands, wordless. The span of his hand wrapped easily over the top of Louis’ thigh, his thumb pulling to stretch the fragile skin there tight. With his other hand, he grasped at the edge of the hard wax, peeling it up just enough to get a grip with his thumb and first finger.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>He looked up to meet Louis’ eyes. “Ready?”</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry helps Louis wax everything off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wax Off

Louis takes a deep, shaky breath as he steps out of his boxers, dropping them on the closet floor and grabbing a robe. It’s undeniably awkward, doing this. Harry sitting in the bedroom, stirring a pot of melting wax. Louis had already gone between his legs with an electric trimmer, paring everything down so it wouldn’t hurt as much. He’s not waxed everything off since probably the end of X Factor, but the motions come back pretty easily. He’s taken a shower, used a washcloth to make sure everything’s as smooth as it can be, dusted baby powder on.

Even though the actual preparation necessary for something like this can be time consuming, Louis knows, privately, that he’s stalling now.

As if to echo the thought, Harry knocks softly on the bathroom door. “Are you ready, Louis?”

He shrugs the robe on and goes to open the door. And says, facing Harry now, “Ready as I’m going to get.”

They walk back into the bedroom together. It’s big, almost extravagantly so. Tall glass windows facing the river, low gray clouds hanging where the sunset ought to be. There’s a towel on the bed.

“You know that you could get someone professional to do this,” Harry says lowly.

He doesn’t sound resentful or uncomfortable or ungrateful, but still: “I’ve said that you don’t have to do it if you don’t want.”

“No, no—I do.”

“Then why so hesitant?” Louis puts on a taunting tone. “Afraid of a little hot wax?”

Harry shrugs. “Just don’t want to hurt you on accident.”

Louis’ hackles settle back down. Harry’s sweet. He’s sweet to offer his help, he’s sweet enough to want this to be easy, even if Louis knows that Harry doesn’t understand the motivations behind it. He highly doubts that Harry appreciates the feeling of smooth skin, or knows the look of aroused surprise on someone’s face when they find out he’s smooth and soft everywhere. It’s a good feeling, not quite warm and fuzzy, but hot and liquid, an anxious jump in his belly soothed by the knowledge that his body can be a sensory experience.

It’s hot. And shockingly intimate with another person in the room, another pair of hands ready to help out.

Harry’s thrown a big beach towel out over the fluffy white duvet to prevent any accidental stains. Neither one of them is exactly Suzy Homemaker, but Harry’s closer than Louis. He thinks about things like stains, and getting all manner of odd shit out of fabrics. Lately his big thing is homemade, DIY cleaning products—vinegar, baking soda, organic castile soap. But God only knows how to get wax out of cotton.

The wax warmer is sitting on the nightstand with a stack of big popsicle sticks and some baby oil. Louis climbs up on the bed, sitting up on his knees to shrug off the white terrycloth robe and lay himself back on the bed. He feels bizarrely shy. He’s skinny-dipped with all the boys before, seen them naked dozens of times on the tour bus. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Harry’s cock, or like Harry hasn’t seen his. It’s not like Harry’s cock hasn’t been in his mouth before, or up his ass. The situation isn’t even uncomfortable really, being naked like this in front of his best friend and lover. It’s just—strange.

“How should I do this?” Harry asks, brandishing a popsicle stick.

Louis plucks it out of his hand. “I’ll show you. I mostly just need help getting a couple harder-to-reach spots, y’know.”

Louis dips the stick into the wax, flipping the still-hard middle section over to make sure it all melts evenly. There’s wax still on the stick, and Louis drips it onto the inside of his wrist. “Making sure it’s not too hot,” he says distractedly. It feels warm and pleasant, not scorching, and he peels it off before it has time to harden. Louis rolls the warm wax into a little ball and drops it into the wastebasket by the side of the bed.

“It should be fine.” He takes a fresh stick and a bit of wax, letting the excess drip off, then leans back onto the stack of pillows at the head of the bed, his legs spread in a way that feels a little obscene. Ignoring Harry for the moment, he smears the warm wax over the inside of his thigh, right where the hair starts. A strip of wax, thick, maybe two and a half inches long.

“Don’t you need strips? Like the fabric ones, I mean” Harry asks suddenly, breaking the fragilely formed silence around them. When Louis looks at him, Harry blushes a little. “I read up on it a bit,” he admits.

Louis suppresses a smile, oddly touched. “Not with this kind of wax,” he says. “It hardens up like, and you just rip it off with your hands.”

Harry looks impressed. “That’s really something.”

Louis snorts, all awkwardness and shyness gone now. It feels like any other night they might spend in their apartment, sitting on the couch watching movies and joking and laughing together. “A real feat of engineering,” Louis laughs.

They fall silent for another minute or so, until Louis reaches down to tap a short fingernail against the wax. “It’s hard enough now,” he announces.

Harry moves closer to Louis on the bed. He’s been sitting at the foot of it. “Do you just pull up an edge?”

Louis sits up. “Basically, yeah. You wanna pull from a part that’s got no hair so you get everything off.” He reaches down, and his hand collides with Harry’s.

“Oh—“

“Are you—“

“Sorry, I just—“

“No, no it’s fine…” Louis trails off, meeting Harry’s eyes now. His face is earnest and open. He pulls his hand back. “You can if you want.”

Harry reaches back in with both hands, wordless. The span of his hand wrapped easily over the top of Louis’ thigh, his thumb pulling to stretch the fragile skin there tight. With his other hand, he grasped at the edge of the hard wax, peeling it up just enough to get a grip with his thumb and first finger. He looked up to meet Louis’ eyes. “Ready?”

Louis’ lips parted, but he didn’t say anything. He nodded quickly, swallowing hard. Harry ripped the wax off in one smooth movement. Louis let out a strangled noise, dropping himself back against the pillows on the bed.

“Are you okay?” Harry’s voice was high and concerned.

“I’m fine,” Louis says tightly. “Just—forgot how it feels. That’s not even the worst bits.”

Harry’s thumb strokes slowly over the clean, hairless skin of Louis’ thigh. “You want to keep going?”

Louis closed his eyes tightly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

When he goes to sit up again, Harry puts one of those big hands against his shoulder. He has to lean over Louis to do it, and it brings back that odd intimacy again, the feeling of being halfway under him and wholly naked. “Just lay down, yeah? I’ve got it now.”

Louis almost asks if he’s sure. But Harry’s hands are firm and confident as he tosses the wax into the wastebasket and grabs a fresh popsicle stick. He looks good: confident, content, his hair tucked behind his ears. Louis trusts him.

Harry spreads another strip of wax onto Louis’ opposite thigh. His hands are calloused and gentle. The wax he applied was a little too much, the strip a little on the longer side. Louis absently thinks that it’s going to hurt when he pulls it off, but he doesn’t say anything. The tendons in his legs flex in anticipation. A stillness has fallen again, a comfortable silence that surrounds them on the bed. He leans back into the pillows and closes his eyes.

This time, when Harry pulls the wax off, Louis barely flinches. It stings—it always does. Even with the hard wax, which theoretically attaches only to the hair, rather than the skin, hurts. Harry’s hands are cool and soothing on his skin.

He keeps going. One strip after another. When he pulls the wax off, Louis feels clean. It feels like his whole body is following the pulling motion, all the insecurity being stripped out of him. He’s forgotten what this feels like, the fresh pain of it and the slick, shiny-tight skin left behind. It feels weird to assign so much meaning to something that’s just cosmetic, but it feels good. It feels better than good.

Harry works methodically through the short hair near his thighs and all down his front. Louis can feel blood stirring, can feel his cock stiffening up. Harry, being the kind of person that he is, ignores it as best he can. Louis keeps his eyes closed and his breathing deep, like he’s about to fall asleep. Every few minutes, Harry will rub his thigh and ask if he’s okay. Louis always nods, never says anything. That’s how it’s gone: Harry asks if Louis wants him to do his delicate little happy trail, if it feels okay when he’s getting closer to the base of Louis’ dick, if he feels okay, if it hurts, is he sure it feels alright?

Louis feels like he’s floating, almost like he has a runner’s high. Or just being high, maybe. He feels like his head is floating a foot above his shoulders, like if he were standing up he might be able to fly. When he does this himself, it’s all business, get it over with, get it done quick. When Harry does it, it’s like he wants it to feel good.

Louis’ fingers twitch against the pillowcases now whenever Harry pulls a wax strip off. It hardly hurts at all anymore—the whole area burns a little, feels hot and red like when he’s embarrassed and blushing hard and he can feel it in how hot his face is. His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t notice when Harry stops for a minute—Louis assumes he’s getting another popsicle stick. But then Harry’s hand is on his forehead, pushing his fringe out of his face.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

Louis swallows and opens his eyes. “Yeah?”

Harry’s flushed, but he doesn’t look uncomfortable. “Do you want me to—to take care of your balls too?”

Louis can’t help but grin toothily. “Aww, Harry, all you had to do was ask if you wanted to take care of my balls.”

Harry shoved against his shoulder. “Shut up. Cause if you do, you’ve got to help out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis sits up, which brings his shoulder up against Harry’s chest. It doesn’t feel odd at all, being stark naked on the bed while Harry’s still in his jeans and a tank top. It feels fine. He shivers when his bare shoulder brushes up against the ribbed cloth of Harry’s shirt.

“Need you to hold yourself up,” Harry says. His voice is so low.

Louis shuffles back a little to lean against the pillows at a different angle, his bum dragging on the soft towel. He pulls his cock up toward his stomach, his cheeks pinking up a little. He keeps his eyes open this time, follows Harry’s hands as he scoops warm wax up onto a stick and reaches down toward Louis’ balls. He’s sensitive all over, but the wax on his balls feels different. It’s the part he has the hardest time with when he has to do this himself. It’s an awkward distance and angle to reach, hard to see, painfully awkward and sometimes just painful. With Harry doing this, it already doesn’t feel as bad. Everything with Harry is comfortable, even this.

The wax takes a little longer than usual to harden, maybe because Louis himself feels so warm. The whole room feels warm. When it’s finally hard enough, Harry puts his fingers on Louis’ balls and pulls down, pulling the skin tight. When he rips the wax off, Louis groans deep in his chest.

“All good?”

Louis lets out another sound, this one high and thin. “I’ll be fine.”

Harry rears back a little at that, his brow furrowing. “I don’t wanna keep going if it’s hurting you too bad, Louis.”

“No, no! It’s good, I promise.” Louis still has his dick pulled taut to his stomach. Harry looks uncertain, but he keeps going. And his hands don’t feel uncertain at all. They feel big and sure, and press so tight against his skin that his fingerprints must rest there like a brand. Louis cock only gets harder, his balls tightening up against Harry’s fingers. Part of him feels embarrassed.

He and Harry have been close since the second they met. They’ve gotten into below-the-belt tickle fights, they’ve shared a bed, they’ve shared clothes, they’ve play-fought and play-kissed and kissed for real. They’ve jerked each other off and blown each other and spent whole days in bed. They live together for Christ’s sake—it’s not like they haven’t experienced all kinds of intimacies. But it’s still different.

Harry’s hands are on his knees suddenly (or maybe not—Louis isn’t paying attention), spreading him open. Louis’ eyes fly open. “Scoot down,” Harry says. “And spread your cheeks.”

Louis wants to have a snappy comment, wants to say something to make this feel less serious, less real. He doesn’t though, just does what Harry says to, shuffling his ass down and leaning back, his legs spread, cock hard, hands reaching down to expose himself. Harry smears wax between his cheeks. The wax warmer is set on low, and has been for a while. It’s getting a little harder now, the way this kind of wax does. When he spreads it, it doesn’t go one the way Harry wants it to, and he uses his fingers to spread it out, thick like warm taffy. Louis can feel his hole fluttering, Harry’s cool hands brushing up against it, and swallows hard.

“Good, Lou?”

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is thready and high. He can feel Harry’s fingers near his hole and it makes his mouth dry.

Harry leans down and covers Louis’ hands with his. “Here, I’ve got you.” Louis moves his hands back up, grips the sheets with the tips of his fingers, letting Harry hold him open. It’s driving him mad. He’s hard enough that it hurts, and Harry’s ignoring it. When he looks down, he can’t tell if Harry’s hard too—but it looks like he might be.

“Almost done,” says Harry, low and soothing.

Louis loves his voice. It sounds like everything he says comes from the bottom of his chest. He lets Louis’ left cheek go and uses his free hand to pull off the wax strip, one quick movement. Louis gasps and arches his back. “God. Fucking shit.”

“S’okay. Got maybe two more, then you’re done.”

“Thanks,” Louis gasps suddenly. “Thanks.”

“Always, Lou.” Harry rubs his thumb over the part of Louis’ ass that hinges with his thigh.

“Just a little more.” Louis takes a deep, shaky breath, one of many that night. Harry pets his flank, waits for him to be ready.

He reaches down to spread himself again. “Okay, go.”

Harry smiles a little. “Gotcha.”

The last few minutes of this are agonizing, vaguely humiliating, but not bad. No worse than when he does it himself, certainly. It’s just different because now he has to think about what it’s going to be like when it’s done, when Harry leans back and dusts his hands off and they never talk about it again. “I think this is gonna be the last one,” Harry says, jolting Louis out of his thoughts for a second.

And it’s not like waxing is ever a great time, but he’s almost sad that it’s going to be over. When Harry rips the last strip of wax from between Louis’ cheeks, Louis drops his arm from where it’s been covering his eyes. His face feels as warm as his ass does, and it’s not all embarrassment. He curls his legs up a little to hide how hard he is, even though Harry’s already gotten up close and personal with his dick tonight.

After a moment, he leans over to grab a flannel and the baby oil from the bedside table. Harry leans forward too, not touching Louis, but creating a sensation of being covered. There isn’t a _huge_ difference in size between them, not objectively, but Harry is taller, and has the kind muscle and lean bulk that Louis will never have. He’s just not built that way, not really.

“What’s that for?” Harry asks, mouth close to Louis’ ear.

“It’ll take off any wax that’s stuck on,” Louis explains. He covers the opening of the bottle with the flannel and tips it up to saturate the cloth. He doesn’t look at Harry at all as he starts to wipe above his cock, the oil cool and soothing on the warm skin. When he goes to add more oil to the flannel, Harry catches his wrist and takes it away from him. His hands make Louis think of puppies with paws that they’ll grow into one day.

“I’ve got it, just lay back down,” Harry says. Louis considers protesting for half a second, then lays back into the pillows. He folds the towel in half and wets a clean section of it. Louis shivers a little at the feeling of the rough towel on his inner thighs, around the base of his dick, wiping gently over his balls. He closes his eyes and lets out a long, shaky breath when Harry gets down to his ass, wiping over his perineum and around his hole.

Louis feels slick and wet with oil—he can feel the cheeks of his ass sliding against one another, warm and a little sticky. Harry tosses the towel onto the duvet, and he thinks about protesting for half a second before it occurs to him that he doesn’t give a single shit. Harry’s hands settle on his hips—the way they’re sitting is suspect, Louis’ legs splayed open and Harry between them. It’s unbelievably hot, with Harry’s hands spanning his hips, his thumbs touching in the middle and his fingers nearly long enough to grasp at the outside of Louis’ hips. Louis is softer there, not really baby fat, just soft skin and a soft tummy. Harry’s fingers make indentations into the flesh on his hips and Louis finds himself hoping he’ll have bruises there tomorrow.

“Can I…” Harry trails off, looking at Louis’ dick. His jaw twitches.

“Not like I’m gonna complain,” Louis murmurs. Harry’s lips are red and swollen, and it makes him think of X Factor days, getting caught making out and having to pretend that they weren’t. No pretending now, certainly.

One of Harry’s hands wraps around his cock, a heavy thumb running over the head. He has a firm grip, and the baby oil lubes Louis up nicely. It makes for a slippery glide of Harry’s hand up and down his cock, and Louis finds himself arching up into it.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Hazza—“

“I wanna blow you, Lou,” he says suddenly. He may as well have kicked Louis in the chest for how breathless he feels.

“Yeah, yeah.”

When Harry starts to lean down though, Louis stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Harry rears back, looking affronted. “What—“

Louis laughs, cutting him off. “I’m covered in baby oil Harry, I don’t think you want that in your mouth.”

Harry laughs too, then, and it’s fun—Louis has had sex before, of course he has, but it’s never this carefree, never this funny. He and Harry collapse into each other, laughing and rolling a little on the bed. Maybe it isn’t that funny, but their guts ache with laughter and it doesn’t matter anyway.

Louis shoves Harry halfway off the bed. “Go get a clean towel, you shit.”

“Can’t believe I almost ate baby oil,” Harry shakes his head and darts off to the bathroom to grab a towel, and Louis leans back on the bed with a smile.

When they’re cleaned up, it gets hot again. Harry meets Louis’ eyes when he leans down to wrap his mouth around the head of Louis’ cock. His lips still look pretty and red, and the gentle suction combined with the way Harry strokes at the base of his dick is driving him mad. “C’mon Hazza, please,” he grits out. “C’mon, want you.”

Harry pulls off his cock and smiles up at Louis, his cheeks dimpling. “You’ve got me.”

His mouth is so hot that it makes Louis feel almost feverish, the suction on the head of his cock making him feel like he might spontaneously combust. Harry wraps his hand back around Louis and makes slow, hard strokes, not really taking more of Louis’ dick into his mouth, but—the feeling is like a tugging in the base of his stomach, a feeling like falling or waking up in the middle of the night with a big jolt. It feels good, and Louis isn’t hesitant to let Harry know that. Loudly.

“Fuck, fuck. Harry,” Louis chokes his name out. He gropes around for the bottle of baby oil and shoves it down by Harry. “Will you—can you use your fingers?”

Harry pulls off with a wet slurp. “‘Course I can, babe.”

He wets his first two fingers with the baby oil before he caps the bottle and sets it aside. “Gonna keep sucking you, that okay?”

Louis twists his fingers into the sheets and nods hard. Harry’s index finger brushes against his asshole, smearing the oil there. He puts his mouth back on Louis’ cock and gives a hard suck at the head at the same time he slips a finger up into Louis’ ass. Louis gasps and bucks a little before he pulls his hips back down to the bed. “God you’re good at that.”

The finger in his ass feels good. Louis doesn’t finger himself very often just because of the hassle it can be—it feels amazing, but it can be so much more work than just jerking himself off in the shower. And his arms are kind of short, which can make it a little awkward to find a good angle, an issue that Harry clearly doesn’t have when laying between Louis’ open legs. Harry figures out very quickly that Louis can take more than one of his fingers, and slides the next up into Louis. The stretch is minor, and feels good. Harry’s fingers are long and bony, and Louis can feel his knuckles sliding against one another inside his ass and—it feels good. The suction on his dick, the slightest touch of teeth when Harry gets overly enthusiastic, his slippery wet fingers brushing up against his prostate every now and again as Harry thrusts them in and out, miming the actions of a thick cock.

Louis wants Harry’s cock. Harry Styles has a fat dick, and there’s nowhere Louis’d rather it be than up his ass.

“Harry,” he says. He waits until Harry looks up and pulls off his cock, fingers still lodged solidly inside him. “Harry, you should fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes flair open wide. “Okay.”

“Um,” Louis feels like his brain only halfway works. “Condoms in the side table, go and put one on.”

Harry rushes to obey, carefully pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the towel. While he fumbled with a condom, Louis reaches down to play with his ass, tracing his fingers over himself and relishing the feeling of the slick oil and puckered skin. He wants Harry’s cock so bad.

By the time Harry’s figured out the condom (his success declared with a triumphant “ah-hah!”), Louis is ready to pin him down and sit on his dick. Which is damn near what he does. Their positions have shifted on the bed such that Louis is splayed open half up on his knees, and Harry is next to him on his back, sat halfway up. Louis plants one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other on his chest, and swings his leg over Harry to straddle him.

Harry’s hands fit back over his hips, and he helps Louis scoot back until he can feel Harry’s dick pressed up between his cheeks. He’s gasping and feels practically wet, his ass sliding up Harry’s thick cock and his own dick leaking precum. Harry takes one of his hands off Louis to adjust his dick, moving Louis up with his thigh. Louis feels Harry up against his hole, and then Harry lets his thigh drop back down, Louis dropping along with it.

He groans with Harry fully seated inside him. It’s not like he’s ever pulled out a measuring stick, but Harry is probably the biggest he’s ever had. Harry groans too, his head flung back against the pillows. “Just a sec,” Louis grits out when he feels Harry’s hips tense up. “Need a second.”

Harry frowns with concern and runs his hands along Louis’ thighs and up his sides. “Take all the time you need, babe.”

Louis slumps forward with his hands on Harry’s chest to keep him up. He still burns a little from the waxing earlier, his skin still bright red and inflamed. The part of Harry’s dick that isn’t inside of him is rubbing the raw skin rawer. His dick is harder than it’s ever been.

“Okay,” he says finally. And moves. Harry really is big. Louis thinks about it a lot, kind of, how big Harry is. And it means that when he pushes up into Louis, or when Louis slides back down, he feels every centimeter of it, every motion and twitch. They work up to a pace that’s comfortable for them both, fast and hard. Louis braces his hands on Harry and rides him, bouncing up and down on Harry’s dick like it’s the last he’ll ever have. And Louis likes getting fucked—he might be able to come from this alone one day, the feeling of fullness that something like this gives him. But probably not today.

Louis wraps a hand firmly around his cock and tugs lazily, still riding Harry. Harry looks almost shellshocked by the whole experience, hard as steel in Louis’ ass with no sign of being close to coming. Louis is close to coming. Harry knocks his hand out of the way gently and takes over jerking Louis off. Louis takes the opportunity to brace his hands on Harry’s hips and use his whole body for leverage to sink down as low as he can and grind on Harry’s dick—between the sensation of being this full and Harry’s hand wrapped around him and the still-burning places where Harry so carefully ripped wax off of him earlier, Louis comes, spattering wetly onto Harry’s hand and stomach.

Orgasm always makes him feel like every ounce of energy he has is being pulled out of his dick. Harry has, thoughtfully, stilled himself and put his hands back on Louis’ hips for the moment while Louis takes the time to catch his breath and resituate himself.

“Do you wanna keep fucking me? Or I can blow you,” Louis offers, feeling fuzzy.

“Whichever is gonna be better for you, Lou,” Harry says softly.

Louis shifts around on Harry’s dick a little. He’s sensitive now, almost overly so, but he also wants Harry to keep fucking him, wants him to get off like that.

“Okay,” he says, decision made. And starts rocking back and forth on Harry’s cock again. Harry’s close already by that time, so it doesn’t take more than a few minutes, Louis gingerly sliding himself up and down Harry’s dick, rocking his hips in the most fluid motion he can manage, clenching down even though it makes him ache, makes his own cock try to twitch with interest. But Harry’s face when he comes is worth any kind of discomfort.

His O-face is everything that Louis had imagined all those nights jerking off to thoughts of Harry—open mouth, eyes half-lidded, face slack. It makes him feel good to see Harry like this. The light from the lamp and from London outside casts shadows on his cheekbones and jaw, and it makes Louis think about what it would be like to sit on Harry’s face and be eaten out. Harry looks like he could eat out for days.

But that’s for another time.

Louis pulls himself off Harry as gently as he can and flops gracelessly onto the bed next to him while Harry ties off the condom and tosses it in the bin with all the used wax and cotton balls.

He turns to Louis and smiles softly, and they lay there panting for a few minutes, smiling fondly at one another.

“We should probably take a shower,” Louis says idly.

Harry cards his fingers through the sweaty hair along Louis’ forehead. “Yeah.”

When Louis starts to get off the bed, Harry scoops him up into his arms. “No, c’mon, let me take care of you.”

And Louis lets him.

**Author's Note:**

> These boybanders inspire me tbh ://// I don't know anything about like, the band timeline really, so imagine that this takes place sometime in a relatively early part of their relationship. 
> 
> Everything about waxing here is completely real and true. I also have a 1D blog now at [tomlinplum](http://tomlinplum.tumblr.com)


End file.
